


Send Holmes My Best

by Casually_Kamisseran



Series: Raising Johnlock's Child [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: I'm making this up as I go along, John and Mary Watson Are Dead!AU, Major Original Character(s), Other, Sherlock is a shitty Godfather, Sherlock is the Godfather, Shit will go down, So bear with me guys, TRIGGER WARNING!!!!! GORE
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 08:56:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1934715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casually_Kamisseran/pseuds/Casually_Kamisseran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the moment Cameron Ridgeway steps onto the front porch of 221b Baker St., everything changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Admission and Admitting

I took a deep breath as I stepped up to the door. There was a feeling in the air that was simply electric, and I knew that all my life had lead up to this point for a reason. Lifting my hand a bit higher than my head, I took the knocker in my grasp and pounded it against the door.  
About thirty seconds after knocking, a woman opened the door. She was at least in her late sixties with bloodshot eyes and a glass of what was either apple juice or whisky. My money was on the latter.  
“Is Mr. Holmes here?” I asked, nodding towards the stairs behind her.  
“Oh, dearie, he isn’ taking clients now.” she said and wiped a tear off her face, her accent slightly worn and slurred which rather confirmed my earlier guess, “He’s… mourning the loss of a dear friend of his.”  
“So I’ve heard, second floor then?” I slid past her into the hall, to which she stared at me in shock.  
“Hesnot taking clients love.”  
“But I’m not a client.”  
I began ascending the stairs while she watched with a look of confusion and disbelief, “Hesnot--”  
“I have no doubt that he’s not taking clients,” I snapped, fed up with the chatter of this... drunken mother? Britain wasn’t anything like I’d expected “however, I neither claimed to be a client or anything near being a client.”  
“Then watar you den?”  
I smiled. “A solution.”  
***  
I rapped lightly on the door at the top of the stairs. “Mr. Holmes?”  
There was no response.  
I turned the knob of the door and let it swing open. Other than the minor creak of the door, there was no sound.  
Being I was already technically breaking and entering, I figured, hey, why not go ahead and walk in?  
That was my first mistake.  
I was barely through the doorframe when the sound of gunshot rang through the air and a puff of powder erupted from the bit of wall next to my face.  
“HOLY FUCKING BITCH-BASTARD,” I screamed, “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK WAS THAT FOR???”  
“You harassed Mrs. Hudson.” a voice said on my left, I think. The ringing in my ears made it a tad difficult to tell.  
“So you shoot at me?”  
“Of course.”  
There was a tone in his voice that almost seemed to imply more, but since I was assuming he had a gun in his hand I didn’t even bother.  
“My name is Cameron Ridgeway and I’m not here to be shot at, okay?”  
“Lie.”  
I paused, finding that a smile was stretching across my face.  
“So the stories are true then.” I guessed, turning to him for the first time and took in his look.  
The first thing I should tell you is he is tall, even sitting scrunched up sideways in his chair. His hair is curly and dark like little tentacles of a squid or an octopus. His face is long and angled as though an angel had taken time to chisel out every feature. One hand is gripping tightly the gun he used to shoot at me, while the other hand clenches to his knee. His gaze is held back, taking me in but reserved as though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know who I was. But perhaps the most extraordinary, and definitely the most revealing, thing about him was he was completely and undeniably naked.  
He smirked and for a terrifying moment I thought I was going to stand up.  
“Most women would either run to or from me in a state like this,” he claimed, then, standing up, he dropped the gun on his seat and moved towards me, “however, you chose to stand there, which could mean a lot of things.”  
I was then taken aback as he reached to me and cupped my face in his hands. They were somehow both rough and soft at the same time. Then, leaning forward so his face was right in front of mine, I did the only thing I could think to do.  
I slapped him across the face.  
“Mr. Holmes, you might be an excellent detective and in mourning, but that doesn’t excuse you’re lack of clothes. Might I ask that you take a moment to at least put on some boxers or something?”  
Once again he looked me up in down but this time smiling.  
“At least you admit to it,” he turned and began walking down the hall, “I’m afraid John never could.”  
“What?” I called, but not getting any answer I looked over at the empty chair across from Sherlock’s.  
Something told me I would never sit in that chair. And I never did.


	2. An Introduction is in Order

“All I had ever really wanted was to leave the US. Now that I have succeeded at doing just that, I decided I should probably find some source of food and water without just being someone’s… entertainment,” I paused and took a glimpse over at Sherlock. He seemed to ooze laziness out of his entire body, yet his eyes were keenly focused on mine. With the recently added robe covering him, he reminded me of a male model, slumped in his chair looking bored. “However, I find that few people are willing to hire a 15-year-old girl to do any job that would adequately pay for a rented room and food and the likes. So when I heard of you, I became interested in finding you.  
“You see Mr. Holmes, while I might seem like an innocent 15-year-old who came here to study abroad, which I am, I find that ordinary people are so often ignorant to the world around them. Yet my own awareness of everything is incomplete. I believe you are familiar with my feelings, as it is my guess that you yourself have been held victim to them. Am I correct?”  
He sat still and silent. Unsure if this was a yes or a no, I continued.  
“Due to recent events which I know you are more than aware of, you have found yourself in a position that can only be categorized as ‘in need of emotional assistance’. Besides, in your field of expertise, you often are in need of someone who can provide support without choking up, but still is not entirely unresponsive to emotion.  
“What I’m trying to say is: I need a rollercoaster going a million miles an hour on adrenaline, and you have an open spot on your ride.” I took a deep breath in anticipation and prayed he didn’t have a dirty mind.  
“You want to be the new John.” it wasn’t a question, it was a statement.  
“Yes Mr. Holmes, I wish to be the new John.”  
He looked at me and sighed.  
“Cameron--” He was barely able to get my name out when there came a knocking downstairs.  
With what I was sure was a very concerned look on my face, I stood up, “Mrs. Hudson is beyond drunk down there, so is it alright if I run down and get it for her?” I asked. To put it simply, Sherlock looked shocked.  
“But we’re working.”  
“And that might be a client.” I stood up and walked out, determined to get my way and help Mrs. Hudson, “You need a client to be working.”  
***  
There was a faint snoring coming from the door by the stairs, which is where I assumed she was.  
‘I’ll get the door, and then check on her.’ I thought to myself.  
The knocking came again and I called out that I was coming.  
Upon reaching the door I heard muttering from the other side, and a different voice telling off the first one.  
“Stop it Greg, she’s basically all we have left of him.”  
“But why do I have to hold the car seat? She’s small but she’s heavy.”  
“You work homicide and you don’t keep in shape?”  
There was silence for a moment and an uneasy “no”.  
I figured I should open the door.  
Standing on the porch was a man and a woman that seemed very much like a couple, complete with a baby, which the man I assumed was Greg was holding.  
“Hello,” I said, a bit unsure, “You're here to see Mr. Holmes?”  
“And who wants to know?” maybe Greg the unfit homicide worker retorted unhappily.  
“Well obviously me since I just asked you that. But perhaps you’re using too much oxygen carrying that.” I said pointing to the car seat, “Anyway, how old is she?”  
The woman was trying unsuccessfully to keep from laughing and Greg just stood there, stunned.  
“She’s two weeks old and her name is Sherly Jane Watson.” Sherlock’s voice came from behind me, half way down the stairs. “Sally, Lestrade, this is Cameron Ridgeway.”  
The woman lost it then, seeing Sherlock in his robe.  
“That’s it,” she said between laughs, “I’m waiting in the car, this is just too much.”  
“No! Sally!!” possibly Greg called to her. “I can’t… I don’t want to…”  
“Let her go,” I said, “I’m guessing you’re Greg?”  
Suddenly accounted for, Greg then looked at me with certain disbelief and threw his free arm in the air.  
“You found another one then?” he directed to Sherlock.  
“Another what?”  
“Another you!”


	3. Time Sure Does Fly

Mrs. Hudson was sitting downstairs in her kitchen with a reluctant and hiccupping Sally, the latter making coffee for the former.  
The two men, the newborn, and I were upstairs, the men arguing and I with the child in my arms.  
“It’s written in their will,” definitely Greg explained, “so it’s no mistake.”  
Sherlock was pacing furiously, every few laps glancing over at Sherly. “Well it obviously is! John knew I didn’t like people, so why make me the godfather?”  
“I don’t know.”  
“And he never said anything to me, why would he not say anything?”  
“I don’t know.”  
“And why don’t you know?”  
“Because I wasn’t his best bloody friend Sherlock!”  
“Guys!” I cried above the noise, bringing affirmed Greg’s attention to me. Sherlock continued pacing, but since he had stopped asking Greg questions, I assumed he was listening.  
“So let me get this straight. This is John Watson’s newborn daughter I’m holding.”  
“Yes.” validated approved Greg.  
“John Watson is dead.”  
“Yes.”  
“The mother is dead?”  
“Yes.”  
“But there’s nothing about her in the news?”  
“Yes.”  
“There’s a reason for that?”  
“Yes.”  
“One final question: Idjitsaywhat?”  
“What?”  
I laughed, “So I’m all up to date?”  
“No.” Sherlock interjected. He turned and before I knew it, was standing right in front of me.  
“My turn.” He said, “You’re familiar with children.”  
“Yes, bu-”  
“You have knowledge about how to care for them.”  
“Of course, but I-”  
“Are you capable of taking care of this child?”  
I looked down at her face. Out of some miracle, she was still asleep.  
“Are you capable of taking care of this child?”  
“Yes.” I said. Sherlock began to smile.  
That’s when we heard the screaming.


	4. The New Arrival

It had already been too much to ask for her to stay asleep when there was yelling, so I was thoroughly concerned when she didn’t even shift when Mrs. Hudson screamed downstairs.  
Though I think Sherlock was too busy running down the stairs to notice.  
Unopposed, Greg looked over at me and Sherly.  
“Did you just agree to raise a child with Sherlock Holmes?”  
“Well when you put it that way…”  
Obviously, Greg was not amused. “What do you have against me?”  
“Nothing, you’re simply easy to tease.”  
“Oh…” surely, Greg was unaware of this until now.  
“Now, I know you must be Greg, but other than that who are you?”  
“Well you’re the new one here, who are you?”  
“Honestly, I don’t know yet. I’m only 15 after all.”  
“And you just threw away your entire life to take care of this infant you just met.”  
“I didn’t originally plan on it when I came here, but plans change.”  
“Plan?”  
I sighed. Everyone wanted to know the plan.  
“I came-”  
“Cameron!” Sherlock called, “The game is on!”  
***  
Lestrade had been quick to dash down the stairs.  
But I waited. And Sherly didn’t wake.  
I bit my lip, concerned at what this might mean.  
“Cameron!” I jumped, having been too busy with my thoughts to hear Sherlock come into the room, “Come on! There’s a note written in blood that’s just been dropped off!”  
“If it’s a note then why did Mrs. Hudson scream?”  
“They lost their head when they left it!”  
***  
I made a note to myself to always take Sherlock seriously, as there was, in fact, an actual head on the floor by the front door.  
Lestrade watched me, as though checking to make sure I was alright with this. So of course, I was.  
“Usually when I see blood there’s a lot less of it.” I said in passing him, “Not that it matters.”  
He gave me a funny look before directing his attention back to Sherlock.  
“Lestrade, hold the child.” Sherlock said without looking up, “Cameron, come closer, you’re going to have to learn on the job.”  
Who said no job is perfect?  
Getting on my hands and knees, I joined Sherlock next to the head.  
“What can you tell me about this head?” he asked.  
I crinkled my nose in disgust as I examined it.  
Who ever it was, I felt sorry for them. The neck had been severed roughly with bits of nasty things hanging off like streamers. The face was a bit mangled as though whoever had taken the head off had used it’s face as a grip. The hair was cropped short and uneven with a couple random long strands. Yet I found myself deeply interested in the ear.  
“Whoever this is they had eight ear piercings on this ear,” I said, “all in the ear lobe.”  
“What does that tell us?” Lestrade prodded.  
“Under normal circumstances that allow a human head left on porches, nothing.” I said, “It might help us identify the victim easier, because not just anyone has eight ear piercings. Yet it just so happens that this particular porch is home to Sherlock Holmes. So it may have some sort of higher significance.”  
“Such as?”  
“Well...” I had a plan, but I didn’t want to go through with it. Oh well.  
I reached forward and grabbed the ear lobe. Placing my index fingers underneath it and my thumbs on the edges, I pressed up slightly and was greeted by a small spurt of scabs popping up out of the piercings like Huns in Mulan.  
“It has significance because it was done recently,” I said smiling, “and based on the way the blood at the neck looks compared to the piercing blood, I’m guessing that the piercings were done before the head was removed. Definitely before this person died.”  
“Good.” Sherlock said. “Cause of death?”  
“Sherlock, do you really think this is ok?” Sally asked, “Letting a teenage girl examine a severed head. She could be tampering with evidence.”  
“You let me do it all the time.” he retorted, “Cause of death.”  
“Obviously he had his bloody head ripped off.” Lestrade muttered.  
“No,” I said, “there’s got to be a different reason.”  
“Why?” Sherlock said. He was pacing now with his hands behind his back, the ties on the robe swinging from the knot.  
“Because you asked for the cause of death.” I stated.  
“Which…”  
“Implies he was dead before being decapitated.”  
“You’re very close.”  
There was a crash from the door by the stairs. I, along with everyone else, turned to look, but only I lost my balance. With a very lady like “OH SHIT!” I fell on the head.

**Author's Note:**

> I highly doubt this will get many viewers, as even I am wary of a world without John Watson backing the famous and highly unpredictable Sherlock Holmes up. Yet here we are, with an John and Mary Watson Are Dead!AU AND an OC who really, really, REALLY, hates the US


End file.
